


Z0RR.a

by Nohbdi



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: F/M, Haunted By The Ghost Of A Mexican Furry, Random Gratuitous Spanish, Slice of Life, Surprisingly Friendly Spectral Activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nohbdi/pseuds/Nohbdi
Summary: A poorly considered decision to download an app on the incredibly sound logic of 'Hey, that picture looks cool' ends up with you as the bewildered and unfortunate target of a rather odd kind of haunting.
Relationships: SCP-1471 (SCP Foundation)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. ¡Buenos Días, Papi!

# 

****

###  **[Part One]**

You really should know better.

You're not sure what possessed you to do it in the first place -  
Curiosity, maybe, or just sheer bloody-minded stupidity.  
You _never_ download anything from the App store that doesn't have any reviews you can read.  
You also don't download something with twenty reviews or less, no matter if it's a five-star or not.  
And you _especially_ don't download an app when you can't even read the name or description.  
Honestly, picking this weird so-called game because 'That's a cool looking drawing of a fox'?  
You almost weren't surprised when the icon - something labelled 'Z0RR.a' - started installing something as soon as you tapped it, then disappeared, along with whatever virus you just invited right into your phone.

You really, really should know better.

You run a virus-scan, then another, and find nothing.  
Dammit, whatever this is, it's deep in your phone, you know it.  
Fortunately, all your shit's backed up recently (enough), so - while you hate the inconvenience - you can go ahead and factory-reset it.  
That should take care of everything, right?

\----

That didn't take care of it.

\----

You get a text three days later, while you're laying in bed.  
You went out with some friends from work last night, and got a little drunk.  
Okay, a lot drunk.  
You got pretty shitfaced.  
Your head is pounding like some big, heavy, pounding... thing...  
Fuck it, you're too hungover to be descriptive.

You manage to dig your phone out, and somehow pull up your messages.  
Oh god, did you drunk-dial someone or hook up with a skank or something?  
You don't recognize the number, even after you manage to blink it into focus.  
There's no message to the text, just a picture.  
The number's weird, too.  
How are you supposed to dial a π, anyway?

You open the picture, struggling to see it clearly.  
It looks like...a bowl? Maybe?  
Yeah, it's a bowl. A bowl of...soup, of some kind.  
Wait, you recognize that bowl. You've got that pattern.  
And the counter it's sitting on looks a whole lot like...

You bolt up out of bed - and almost fall flat on your face when the room starts spinning. Ow, ow ow ow.  
You wait about a thousand years, then try again a little slower.  
You somehow stumble your way out to the kitchen, barely realizing halfway there that you're dressed in just your boxers and one sock.  
Whatever. Mystery to solve.

You make it to the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall.  
You don't hear anything from the kitchen, or from the rest of the house for that matter.  
Slowly, carefully, you peer around the doorframe.  
Sitting on the counter, right where the picture had it, is a heaping bowl of...soup. Of some kind.  
There's meat in it, and cabbage, and is that hominy?

You stare at it in confusion for a while, then remember the phone in your hand.  
The picture is still on the screen when you wake it back up.  
There's a text-bar across it that you didn't notice the first time.

> `[¡Buenos días, Papi! ¡Menudo delicioso!]`

What the hell is going on.


	2. Santos y Pan Dulce

There's candles on your bookshelf.

You went out to work like normal, and when you got back home...candles.  
You probably wouldn't have noticed them for a couple of hours, honestly, except that you also got another message on your way home.

Another picture, again from the weird number.  
A picture of candles. Candles, in glass jars, with pictures of...  
Who the hell are these weird guys, anyway?

That's probably the Virgin Mary or something, but is that, you dunno, Jesus? Saint Paddy?  
There's a text line, again.

> `[Santos, por bendiciones.]`

That's Spanish, isn't it.  
Dammit, you're being targeted by some sort of creepy Mexican stalker.

How the hell is she--  
_(Oh god, you hope it's a 'she')_  
\--getting into your house?  
All the doors and windows were locked when you left, and when you got back.  
These candles haven't been burning long, so what the hell?

At least the soup was pretty good.  
Tasted like beef. Some sort of beef.

Your phone beeps with another message.  
You bring it up; it's another picture. Of course.  
It's a picture of a plate, covered with weird round rolls with odd, bumpy plus-shaped lumps on top.  
There's also some pink cookies, and some white ones too, and...is that one shaped like a pig?  
What the fuck, honestly.  
The picture's caption is, as always, ever so helpful.

> `[¡Buenas tardes, Papi! ¡Pan delicioso!]`

Wait.  
That's your kitchen, again.  
You were just in there.  
You know for damn sure you would have noticed a plate of, whatever that is, when you were in there.

You rush to the kitchen, almost knocking over a shelf as you dash through the hall.  
Sure enough, on the counter - one big, heaping plate of cookies and rolls.  
They're still warm.

You spend the next hour checking, re-checking and triple-checking every door, window, cupboard - everything.  
There's not a sign of entry or exit, everywhere.

What the fuck is going on.


	3. La Cura Para el Cáncer

Oh god, you're dying. This is the end. You're gonna die.

Your stomach churns, and with a heavy, painful groan, you roll over on to your back.  
There was a party at work, today. A potluck.  
You brought your totally killer brownies, which everyone always loves.  
One of the women in Finance made lasagna, and of course you had a piece.

You knew it was a mistake from the first bite.  
Rubbery noodles, watery sauce, and the cheese - oh god, that cheese!  
You couldn't spit it out in front of her, not with the bosses watching.  
You had to choke down the whole thing, and smile while doing it.  
Oh god, that woman poisoned you, and now you're gonna die because of that horrible cheese.

You feel your bile rising, and manage to make it to your feet and run to the bathroom before anything horrible starts.  
Sometime during the whole ordeal, you hear and feel your phone go off with a message.  
You already called in sick, who the fuck could--

It's that number again. Another picture.  
It's a shot of your nightstand.

There's a tall, green glass bottle on it, next to a clear glass cup full of bubbly liquid, with a lemon wedge in it.  
The label on the bottle is half-turned away, and different than how you're used to seeing it normally, but you'd recognize the logo anywhere.

What the hell is a bottle of Sprite doing on your nightstand!?

There's a caption, as always.

> `  
>  `
> 
> [¡Ay, Papi! Bebe, cura el cáncer.]

`  
`

Seriously, what the fuck.

On the other hand, your throat is seven different kinds of raw right now, and you could really use something to drink.  
Stumbling back to your room, you manage to crawl back into bed.  
You decide to completely ignore just how the fuck the Sprite got where it is in favor of just shotgunning the whole thing.

Oh god it burns, the bubbles burn.  
It is a good pain...

You manage to get the glass back on to your nightstand before falling backwards onto your pillow.  
You're still dying, but at least you're taking the scenic route now.  
The room is spinning a little less than it was, at least.  
You have your arm thrown over your eyes, blocking out the light, which helps.

Your stomach's also settling down, a little.  
It almost feels like someone's rubbing it, even.  
Making slow little circles around and-

**_*bing bing!*_**  
Really? What now...  
Oh look, another picture.  
Wait, no. This one's a video.

A video of...  
...your bare chest.  
With a gloved hand on your stomach.  
Making slow little circles.

The only reason you don't immediately bolt up is you're too weak to even move.  
And too terrified even if you could.  
There's a caption on the video.

``

> `[Sana, sana, colita de rana,]`

You can hear your breathing.  
And...is that humming?  
It sounds like a woman's voice...humming.

You turn your head, looking down at your chest.  
At your bare chest, and the empty room around you.

You look at the video again, at the gloved hand on your chest.  
Wait, that's not a glove.

That's fur.  
And those nails...those are claws.

You feel the blood drain from your head, feel yourself start to pass out.  
One last thought passes through your mind before everything goes dark.

Oh god, what the fuck.  
You're being haunted by a Mexican furry.


	4. Dime Que Soy Bonita

What the hell is going on in your life.

Seriously, you have no fucking clue anymore.  
A few days ago, you came home to find your bed had been made, and your laundry was washed, folded and stacked on top of it.  
Which, while definitely freaky as hell, probably wouldn't be something you'd consider all _that_ much of a problem. In the long run.

It was the fact that your comforter had been replaced.  
With a big-ass Mexican blanket.  
A big-ass Mexican blanket of...okay, yeah, that one ripped native dude holding that lady, that looks pretty cool and all if you think about it, but...  
And your comforter wasn't _gone,_ just folded up and put away, so it's not that bad, you guess.

Your clothes, though - some of them don't look right.  
You're not sure all of these collared shirts are yours, honestly.

And then there was yesterday morning, when you woke up to something cooking on the stove.  
You're not quite sure what 'chorizo' is, and frankly, you're a little scared to look it up.  
It tasted good at least, especially with the weird purple punch.

Honestly, you're not sure which is scaring you more -  
How easily this stuff seems to happen around here,  
Or how quickly you seem to be getting used to it.

You have made a few decisions, though.  
Whatever is going on here, you're not going to let it just happen to you.  
You're going to take charge of the matter, starting today.

Which is why, among other things, you've downloaded a language-learning app for your phone.  
And a Spanish dictionary.  
You also have another plan, which is why you've been out shopping at the mall today.

Finding the key component of this plan has been... surprisingly difficult. Not a lot of stores seem to carry what you're looking for.  
Still, you managed to find it, or at least you hope you did.  
The magic of Google said this should be what you need, at least, and the internet never lies.  
Right?  
Oh god, you really hope this works like you're planning it to work.  
You don't want a pissed-off ghost in your house.

You pull into your driveway, no longer so sure of your plan.  
There's a message from the ghost.  
It's a picture of a plate of burritos, wrapped up in some kind of paper.  
Wait, no, hold on - you know this one. Those aren't burritos, they're tamales, and that's not paper, it's...a banana leaf or something.  
Do bananas have leaves?  
There's a caption, like always.

> `[¡Bienvenido! ¡Tamales frescos, Papi!]`

You pull up your dictionary app, and work to decrypt the phrase.  
Let's see... 'Bienvenido', that's 'welcome', okay.  
Ah ha, you were right - tamales. And 'frescos', that's probably, yeah, 'fresh'.  
You start typing in the last word, some part of you noticing it's been in almost every one of the ghost's messages...to...you...

Okay, what the fuck.  
Has this ghost seriously been calling you 'daddy' this whole time?  
It's almost enough to make you abandon the plan altogether.  
Hell, maybe Alaska looks nice this year. Ditch the phone somewhere and just fucking drive.

You shake your head clear. Come on, get a grip.  
Maybe it's a cultural thing. Maybe it means something totally different.  
Anyway. You're on a mission.

You step out of the car, your purchase clutched in your hand as you walk inside.  
You honestly have no idea how, when, or even if the ghost might be watching you from moment to moment, so you don't even worry about it.  
Instead, you head to the living room, and the other part of your scheme.

Pulling off the plastic wrapper, you slide the CD out of its case, plugging it into your stereo tray and [dialing up a track](https://youtu.be/h5z99EYHY4I).

You're almost certain you can feel a pair of curious eyes on the back of your neck while you turn the volume knob up.  
You turn around, bringing your phone up as the first strums of the guitar begin to sound.

There's a message almost immediately.  
It's a picture of the CD case, held in a slender hand.  
A slender hand, covered in smooth, fine, short black fur, with shaped, trimmed and polished claws on the end of each finger.

> `[¡Ay, Papi! ¡Esta canción, mi corazon!]`

There isn't time to check your dictionary; you just hope that's a positive message.  
As the song begins to play, you raise your phone up in front of you, bringing up the camera feature.  
You then switch over to video, panning around the room.

The singing starts on the track, and you're caught a little off-guard by how soft, and sweet, and haunting it is.

It takes you a moment to realize you're hearing something else.  
Something that sounds like humming.  
Coming from your phone's audio, not the stereo.  
Holy shit, you might actually be pulling this idea off.

You pan around the room, trying to catch sight of the ghost on your screen, but...nothing.  
You then try to see if the humming might be coming from one direction more than another, and...okay, kind of.  
Maybe.  
God dammit, you suck at this.

You're still waving the phone around the room while trying to think of another idea, when you notice the humming stopped.  
About the same time you realize that, you hear something different from your phone.  
Giggling.  
Well, at least someone's finding this funny.

Your phone bings with a message.  
It's a picture of you, holding up your phone and looking, well, about like you thought you look right now.

> `[¿Qué pasó, Papi?]`

You're considering what to do about the message, or about your plan - which really doesn't seem to be working out like you'd hoped - when another picture comes in.  
This one's a shot of your chair, right across from you.  
You're not sure why; it's an empty chair, nothing special about it.  
The caption on this one catches your attention, though.

> `[¿Quieres una foto, Papi?]`

You still have no idea what the words mean.  
You only downloaded that language app, what, this morning?  
Still...For some reason, some strange impulse,  
You're almost willing to believe you understand what she's trying to tell you.  
Hell with it, it's worth a shot at least.

You turn off the video mode on your phone, going back to the regular camera.  
Pointing at your chair, you do your best to zoom out until you've framed roughly the same amount of area as the image in the message.  
You hear your phone giggle again as you press the button, snapping a shot of empty air.

Except...wait.  
The preview, down in the corner.  
It...doesn't look empty.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, you shakily tap the preview, pulling up the last shot.  
The image expands, filling up your screen, and...  
...there she is.

Holy shit.

You can't quite process this.

You take it piece by piece, to process just what it is you're actually seeing.

A dress. A red and yellow dress. Made in layers, red from the waist down, almost to the floor, and slim and slinky until it widens out at the bottom, with more ruffly yellow peeking out underneath. It reminds you of a tulip, for some reason, if tulips came in red and yellow.  
There's another layer of bright yellow at the waist, then red again, then a red-and-yellow corset of some kind, before the top of the dress, again in the same bright yellow.

You stare for a moment at that top, wondering just how it stays up like that, what with being all off the shoulder and low and, well, everything, like it is...

You try to pretend you weren't staring as much as you were, and go back to looking at the rest of the picture.

She's turned mostly away from you, looking back over her shoulder at you with her arms crossed in front of her, and one hand on the shoulder closest to you.  
Her hair is somewhere between a sunny brunette, and an almost golden blonde, and flows in waves down the back of her head to a little past the middle of her back. 

At this angle, you can see the way the black fur of her hand and arm fades into a kind of tannish-orange, just above her elbow. Somewhere around the front of her neck, it fades again into white, going up to her chin and, you can imagine, down to her chest.  
A pair of black, triangle-shaped ears, each as big as your palm, poke out of the wave of hair on top of her head, framed near her forehead by a headband of red and yellow flowers on a red ribbon.

As if to complete the ensemble, a thick, fluffy orange tail with a white tip sticks out from under the back of one of the layers around the waist of her dress, curling down towards the ground and loosely around her legs.

Well...Okay.  
Either the most dedicated ghost of a furry you have ever heard of, or...  
Holy hell, you're being haunted by an actual fox-lady.  
You take a moment to process that.

Then, you focus on the other detail you intentionally were hanging back on.

You look at her face.  
Her bone-white face.  
With black holes for eyes.  
And a black spot for a nose.  
And green lights in her eyes--

Wait. What?  
Those aren't lights.  
Those...are her eyes.  
And...those aren't holes. Is...is that paint?

Holy shit - you seriously were about to freak out over a painted face.  
A cute painted face, even.  
With cute blue petals around her eyes.  
And some kind of ivy on her cheeks.

Okay, this is 300% better.  
You're okay with the cute painted face ghost.  
Even if she's a fox.

You let out a deep sigh, and hear her giggle through your phone again.  
Your phone flickers, and suddenly there's a caption on your picture.

> `[Z0RR.a es encantadora, Papi, ¿no?]`

You chuckle, nodding.  
'Zorra'. That was the name on the app, wasn't it?  
That must be her name, huh.  
You smile, looking up from your phone towards the empty air in front of the chair.  
"Sí," you say, using one of the few words you've picked up so far. "Very pretty."

You look back down at the picture - and freeze.  
[**_The face has changed._**](https://desu-usergeneratedcontent.xyz/trash/image/1529/03/1529031934296.gif)

The bone-white paint - it isn't paint.  
It's a bare skull.  
A bare, hollow, painted fox skull.  
With glowing green flame in the empty, black sockets.

The screen flickers, shakes, goes black-  
Then comes back up to the original picture, with the original painted face.

For a brief, sickening second, you almost, almost wonder if you imagined what you just saw.  
Your ears catch the last few lines of the song, as the track reaches it's end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dos besos llevo en el alma Llorona  
>  Que no se apartan de mí  
>  Dos besos llevo en el alma Llorona  
>  Que no se apartan de mí_
> 
> _El último de mi madre Llorona  
>  Y el primero que te dí  
>  El último de mi madre Llorona  
>  Y el primero que te di_
> 
> _Llorona_  
>  _Yo te di..._


	5. Este Plan Es El Mejor Plan

A ghost.  
You have a ghost.  
An actual, real live ghost, living in your house.

Okay, not 'living', but - that's not the point.  
The point is--

You pull out your phone again, knowing you've already lost count how many times it's been that you've looked at the photo.  
She's still there, still smiling over her shoulder at you.  
It's not possible, but it's right there.

Okay, so you may be freaking out just a little over this.  
And you probably freaked out a bit more over the...whatever that was you saw yesterday.  
If you even saw it.  
And didn't imagine it.

You could have imagined it.  
Right?  
Oh god, you didn't imagine it.  
The fucking photo changed right on your phone and everything and--

You close your eyes, give a shudder, and get a hold of yourself.  
It's fine. It's totally fine.  
Whatever that was, it's fine. Probably totally normal.  
Oh god, what the hell is normal for ghosts anyway.

Whatever. You can handle this. You have a handle on this.  
Which is why you're handling it right now, the best way you know how.  
By following your instincts.

Specifically, the ones that told you to go out after work and go shopping for something.  
Something very special.  
It took a little bit of hunting to find just what you were looking for, but you're fairly confident you managed.

The ghost -  
_(- what was it, Zelda? No, Zorra, that was it -)_  
-she may be, well, a ghost and all, and kind of a little intimidating because of that,  
But she's also done a lot for you since she showed up.  
Like, a whole lot.

Making you food, cleaning your house, washing your dishes if you forget to do so,  
Even doing your laundry for you.  
It's a bit freaky in it's own right, really.

So, you're going to surprise her with something nice, in return.  
You actually have no freaking idea if your idea will work,  
Or if she'll be able to appreciate it,  
Or if it's even something she _would_ appreciate, like she did with the music,  
But dammit, it's an idea, and you're gonna go through with it.

You're even being smart about this, and did your research this time.  
There's no way this plan can fail.  
Oh god, don't let this plan fail.  
You really, really don't want a pissed-off ghost with a skull face haunting you.  
Or worse, having her just, well, disappointed.

You shake off those negative thoughts as you pull into your driveway, shutting off the engine and climbing out of the car.  
Before you even reach the front door, there's a familiar chime from your phone.  
You pull up the message, smiling at the picture - some kind of colorful, crinkly paper flower thing next to a plate of...some kind of meat thing, on tortillas. Soft tacos, you think?

> `[¡Buenas tardes, Papi! ¡Tacos al pastor!]`

The picture's caption confirms it, though to be fair, they don't look like any soft tacos you've ever eaten.  
(Then again, there's that little voice-of-survival in the back of your brain that _seriously_ recommends against ever bringing home anything from the 'Bell anyway...)

You open the door, hiding your surprise under your coat for the moment. Feeling only a little silly for doing so, you call out, "Hello - uh, buenos tardas, Zorra! I brought, uh..." You hesitate a moment, then try, "Un presento?"

There's an odd sort of quietness from the house, like a pregnant pause, and for a moment, you really, _really_ hope you didn't just screw up somehow.  
Your phone chimes with a message. You quickly flick your screen to life and - oh, thank _god,_ it's from her. You're okay.  
Probably.

She's somehow managed to snap another picture of herself (in the kitchen, you note, next to the plate of tacos), pointing at herself with a curious look on her face.  
At least, you _think_ she looks curious - between the facepaint and the whole, well, fox thing, it's a little tricky to tell - but a head-tilt and lifted eyebrow is fairly universal, right?

> `[¿Un regalo? ¿Para mí?]`

Taking the picture as a cue, you head toward the kitchen as the most likely place for her to still be - although honestly, you still have no idea if she moves around like you do, or just, you don't know, teleports or something...  
Too much to think about, you decide. Better just to not worry about it.

"Yeah," you say instead, smiling in the general direction of where you think she might be as you round the corner, "Un, uh, regalo, for you!"  
Okay, Casanova, enough with butchering your weak-ass grasp of the language.

With all the dramatic flair you can muster, you reach into your coat, pulling out the surprise and setting it on the table with a heavy **thunk!**

You swear, for a second there, you can almost hear the sound of a surprised gasp. It sounds like...  
_*Ding-ding!*_  
Yep, there it is.

Your phone is already out, so feeling a bit puckish, you point it in the general direction of the other end of the table and snap a picture of the empty space across from you.

You're only half-surprised to see that your plan worked, as you flick back to the recent picture to see her standing there, hands cupping her mouth in wide-eyed shock and surprise, as she stares down at the center of the table, and at the heavy, shining bottle in the middle, full of what you have been assured is the best, finest, highest quality of pure, grade-A--

> `[¡TEQUILA!]`

Yep, totally a good plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any plan that involves alcohol is simultaneously the worst and the best plan ever.


	6. Un Tequila, Dos Tequila, Tres Tequila, Suelo

On the one hand, it's fair to say Zorra might be excited about this idea.  
On the other, you're honestly still a little curious about how exactly, or even _if_ exactly, this is actually going to work.

Hell with it, you've already gotten this far.  
Time to bite the proverbial bullet and go with it.

You uncork the bottle, filling both of the small shot glasses in front of you, then set it down.  
For a second or two, you almost expect to see one of the glasses just lift up or something.

Nothing like that happens, of course.  
Because of course it doesn't.  
This whole idea was stupid, obviously.  
You don't know what you were thinking.  
Zorra's a ghost, it's not like she can actually drink anything-

_*Ding-ding!*_

You're distracted from your thoughts (thank god) by your phone.  
It's a message, like usual, from Zorra.  
She's leaning her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her hands.  
She seems to be looking at you - or at least the camera - with something between disappointment and amusement.

> `[Vasos equivocados, papi.]`

Your stereo suddenly kicks on with the sounds of latin guitar strings.  
The sound makes you instinctively turn to look, of course.

There's a few quick scraping sounds behind you, on the table.  
You turn back around, and notice things have changed.

For one, the shot glasses are gone.  
In their place, are two larger wine glasses, like wide...  
What do you call 'em, champagne flutes?  
But wider than those.  
You're pretty sure you don't own any wine glasses of any kind, let alone this style.

_*Ding-ding!*_

Somehow, you're not surprised to be getting another message.  
Pulling up your phone, you see a picture of Zorra, leaning back in her chair and holding her glass.  
Completely ignoring the fact that 'her' glass happens to still be on the table, of course.

She's smiling at you, at least, and appears to be admiring the drink.  
And, you think, smelling it?  
You thought people were supposed to, you know, just shoot the damn things or something.

> `[Hazlo así, papi.]`

Yeah, you're not bothering to translate that right this moment.  
You will follow her example, though.  
Or so you hope.

You take your own cup, raising it to your nose, and give it a sniff.

Huh. pretty sweet, honestly. You're not sure what you were expecting.

_*Ding-ding!*_

You pull up the message, holding your phone to frame the shot about where the picture fits.  
She's raised her glass to her lips, and looks to be sipping it. Even has one finger in the air, all dainty and all.  
Definitely not how you were thinking you were supposed to drink this stuff.

Still, might as well follow the expert on this.  
Raising the glass to you lips, you tilt it back,  
And proceed to accidentally gulp down a whole mouthful.

You swear you can almost hear her laughing while you gasp and wheeze for air.  
At least someone's enjoying it.

Still, you're pretty sure you'll like the next glass.


	7. ¿Te Gusta Lo Que Ves?

You definitely enjoyed the next glass.  
And the one after that.

You're also rather surprised to find just how well Zorra can hold her drink, too.  
Not that the two of you have exactly been trying to break records or anything, but the girl's definitely kept up with you.

(Or more accurately, you're fairly sure, you've kept up with her.) 

She's sent you a few pictures of her swaying around the room, enough for you to try capturing video of her dancing.  
So far you've only gotten blurry ghosts (haha) in the corners of your shots, but you're willing to keep trying.  
Especially because you think, possibly, you may have gotten something that sounds like singing.  
You really hope so.  
Because if so, she has a really pretty voice.

_*Ding-ding!*_

> `[¿Eso crees, papi?]`

You're not that good of a singer yourself, unfortunately, and that's when you're sober.  
And dancing's also not one of your strong suits.  
Which means the ghost in your house has you beat on three different categories.

Not that you mind, of course.  
You kind of like the idea of knowing that you're being haunted by a ghost who sings better, dances better, drinks better, and looks better than you do.

_*Ding-ding!*_

> `[¿Crees que me veo bien, papi?]`

You aren't that much of a drinker, honestly.  
Sure, you've gone out with the guys from work a couple times, had a couple beers, shit like that.  
Never really got too into it though.  
Besides, most of the guys were really just going because they wanted to look at all the pretty girls anyway.

_*Ding-ding!*_

You've been checking your messages whenever Zorra sends them, mostly just to be polite.  
You're pretty sure she knows you don't really understand what she's saying when she sends them.  
You do make an effort, normally, to at least try and translate them.  
When you're not, you know, getting pleasantly drunk and all.

You pick up your phone to look at the latest--  
\--and almost choke on your tequila.  
She sent another picture with this one.  
A picture of herself, across the table from you.  
[With her top pulled down, in front of you.](https://www.furaffinity.net/view/27974410/)

> `Me gusta que me mires, papi.`

The tequila burns in your throat as you force a swallow.  
You can't quite wrap your head around what you're very much aware you're seeing.

You're staring. You're aware you're staring. You can't keep from staring.  
She's probably still sitting across from you, watching you stare at her picture.  
This was definitely not a situation you were at all, in any way, expecting.

Somehow, you manage to tear your eyes away from your phone, turning to where her chair is.  
You imagine her still sitting there,  
Although by now she could be literally anywhere and you wouldn't have a clue.

You swallow, trying to compose your face into any sort of expression that doesn't scream 'I'm a drunken creep'.  
You have absolutely no clue how well you manage to do so.

You scramble mentally for one of the few words you've actually looked up and studied.  
Call it survival instinct, call it foresight, call it whatever,  
For once you're glad you listened to the voice in your head and memorized it.

Your voice is a little shaky, but you think that might be a positive thing in this case,  
As you look about where you think her head would be, and open your mouth.  
"Hermosa."

Oh god you hope you said that correctly.

The room is silent, other than the CD still playing.  
It's still silent as the song ends.  
Oh god what if she's not even still here--

_*Ding-ding!*_  
You scramble to pull up your new message.

There's no text.  
Just an image of Zorra,  
Smiling the biggest smile you've ever seen her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Image courtesy of [Keadonger,](https://www.furaffinity.net/user/keadonger/) and used with permission.)


	8. Chapter 8

Oh god  
Oh god your head  
How much did you drink last night  
Your head is pounding like some big, heavy, pounding...thing..

Wait, you've been here before.  
Mentally speaking.  
Physically speaking as well, too.  
This is your bedroom, after all.  
And this is a surprisingly comfortable bigass Mexican blanket.  
You're not entirely certain you recognize these pajamas though.  
Fuck it, you're hungover, and they feel good.

Speaking of being hungover, how much did you drink last night?  
You vaguely recall some details about the night before -  
Rough recollections, weird blurry things mostly.

At least you do recall what you were doing, and with who.  
So, score one for unique experiences.  
You don't think you know anyone else who can say they had drinks with an actual legitimate ghost.

Well, other than that one weird guy at the club that one time, but you're pretty sure he was lying out his ass about everything that night.  
Seriously, who makes up stories about a killer piñata anyway?

_*ding-ding!*_  


Oh god oh fuck son of a fuck  
Okay, okay, phone right next to your ear  
Bad place to have a phone right now  
God that message alert is just

You carefully peel the offending plastic brick off your face, blinking bleary-eyed at the phone.  
After a few minutes of blinking, scrubbing your face and adjusting the angle, you somehow manage to get a vague idea of what's on the screen.

It's a picture, as you expected, from Zorra.  
It looks like a bowl of something. Probably food.  
There's a caption that probably means words of some sort.  
By your clever and masterful scientific deduction, it probably means she made you something to eat. Because she's amazing like that.  
God what did you do to deserve a ghost like her.

You let the phone drop from your hand --  
\-- and then spend a few moments cussing up a storm and holding your nose.  
Smooth, real smooth.  
Well, at least you're awake now.

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard.  
Between your throbbing head and your throbbing nose, you give yourself a moment before trying anything more complicated.

While you're sitting there, you start to notice something.  
A smell. A rather distinct smell.  
A distinct, meaty, spicy smell, that makes your mouth water.  
Fairly confident the room is done spinning around, you carefully pry your eyes open, and look over on your nightstand.  
At this point, you're not surprised to find that bowl from the message sitting there, still steaming.  
It's definitely soup, and looks like that same soup she made last time you were hungover.  
Definitely don't deserve a ghost like her.

There's also a small glass bottle next to the bowl, with the cap already popped off.  
Still can't read shit through your hangover-induced blurry vision, but the label looks fancy.  
It also looks like it's full of some kind of orange soda.  
Smells like it too. And tastes pretty damn good, especially with the soup.  
You honestly have no idea where she gets these things from, but you hope she doesn't run out anytime soon.  
Maybe you should see if she needs some shopping money or something.  
Do ghosts go shopping?

You finish off the bowl of soup pretty quick, sopping up most of the juices with some really tasty, fluffy bread rolls.  
It's got a kick to it, like a lot of things Zorra makes, but the orange soda takes care of that nicely.  
You start to feel a bit more human by this point, and not so much a braindead, half-blind zombie with a headache.  
At the very least, you manage to crawl out of bed without falling all over yourself.

You take a quick trip to the bathroom, then gather up the dishes to take to the kitchen.  
Before you leave your room entirely, though, you have an odd thought.  
It's not that hard to balance all the dishes in one hand, which leaves the other one free.  
Or rather, free enough to hold up your phone, with the video recorder going.

You're a little surprised, in a good way, to hear what sounds like singing through your phone's speaker.  
You make a note to put in some headphones the next time you try this, for better sound quality.  
Rounding the corner to step into the kitchen, you almost lose your grip on the phone and the dishes.  
You struggle for a bit to keep from dropping everything, noticing that the singing's stopped.  
Instead, you swear you can hear...giggling?  
Damn, her voice sounds amazing.

Your camera's showing something over by the sink, but it's weirdly blurry.  
All that orange and yellow in the blur makes you fairly confident about what you're looking at, of course.  
Setting down your dishes on the counter, you hold your phone with both hands and smile confidently at the blurry space.

"Buenas dios, Zorra," you say cheerfully, showing off how well you've been studying.  
Your phone speakers echo with her giggle again, then chime with a message-alert.

You swipe the message open, and nearly drop your phone again.  
Zorra's standing at the sink, like you suspected, right where the blurry footage on your camera shows up.  
That's not the surprising part, of course.  
Nor is the text on the message, which by now even you can manage to recognize.

> ¡Buenos días, papi!

No, what's surprising is that you can see her leaning over the sink, smiling back over her shoulder at you.  
With her big, fluffy fox tail sticking up.  
And making the them of her dress slide up.  
Which is why you are very much aware, right now, [that she isn't wearing anything underneath.](https://static1.e621.net/data/bb/db/bbdb1c57d71398036d5c0ccffff129ab.png)  
Holy shit.

You're suddenly quite certain that the part of last night you thought you'd dreamed up, wasn't just a dream.  
Holy shit, the ghost in your house is definitely flashing you the goods.  
Which is about the clearest message you think you could get, as to how she feels about you.

While you, meanwhile, have _no fucking clue_ what to do about this.


	9. Un Juguete Nuevo

You will say one thing for certain,  
Being haunted is nothing like you would have expected from the stories.

True, you're also pretty sure you never expected to be haunted in the first place,  
And honestly, you think you can safely say you didn't really believe in ghosts before now anyway,  
But you're fairly confident you've never heard of a haunting like this.

(In fairness, someone would have had to _tell_ about a haunting like this for you to have heard about it,)  
(And you certainly don't feel any inclination to be the one to do so.)  
(That sounds a whole lot like a one-way trip to getting a nice padded room and a coat to hug yourself.)

Regardless, while this is certainly the weirdest situation you can think of,  
It also feels oddly...nice?

There's something pretty good, honestly, about coming home from work, or waking up in the morning, or whenever really,  
And finding a delicious (if spicy, but you're getting better with that), home-cooked meal waiting for you.

You're even - and you can't believe you're actually thinking this - but you're kind of getting used to the weird teasing, and the flirting.  
...and the straight-out flashing.  
God help you, you think you're even starting to _like_ it.

You mean, she's a ghost,  
And she's also somehow a weird human fox woman thing,  
And again, she's a _ghost_ , and a _fox_ ,  
But it's hard not to appreciate the attention.

(She's even kind of cute, and pretty, and oh god you can't believe you just thought that, there's gotta be something fucked up in your brain)

So really, all in all, you're probably pretty lucky to have a ghost of a mexican furry hitting on you,  
Instead of, you don't know, trying to murder you and wear your face or something.

Which is kind of the reason, or one of the reasons at least, that you decided to do something special.  
Call it curiosity, call it an experiment - hell, call it being weird as hell if you want, you've certainly done so yourself -  
But you're actually kind of excited the day the package shows up on your porch.

Zorra's pretty curious herself, judging by the message she sent.  
You can see her in the picture, looking over your shoulder at the box, a curious expression on her face.

> [¿Qué es eso, papi?]

You're pretty sure there's no way you could hide from her to open this;  
She's definitely been in your room before, and you try not to think of where else she may have been without you knowing.  
(Don't think about showering, don't think about it)

So there's no real sense in trying to keep it a secret or anything.  
Instead, you go ahead and just open the box right in the living room.

You pull out a pair of white plastic sticks, looking curiously at the weird loops and buttons on each of them.  
The main piece comes out next, and you spend a little time adjusting straps and trying it on for size.

Your phone bings with another message while you're fiddling with things, and you pause a moment to check it out.

Zorra's face is all of a foot away from yours in the picture, staring at the visor covering your eyes with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

> [Te ves muy tonto, papi.]

You can't help but chuckle at the odd picture, thinking how cute she is like that, and how ridiculous you look in this headset.  
Still, silly or not, you're pretty hopeful that this idea of yours might just work.

You find the cable in the box, plugging one end of it into your laptop, and attach the other side to the visor before slipping it down onto your head again.  
You can't quite hold back a grin as you slide the headset over your eyes, finding the power switch with your finger and giving it a flick.

...After about a minute, you take the headset back off and look at the cable.  
There's a little yellow light next to the power port, flashing slowly.  
Right - forgot to charge it first.

* * *

After about half an hour, the yellow light turns green and stops flashing, which you take as good indication that the unit's charged and ready to go.

While you were waiting, you took some time to flip through the manual, basically learning how the headset's supposed to work.  
(And discovering that the two remotes need batteries, which you went ahead and put in. Definitely a good catch, there.)

You haven't gotten any more texts from Zorra while waiting; you suspect she probably got bored and went to go do...whatever she might be doing right now, you really can't be certain.

Whatever, you're good to go now. Time for Science, bitch.

This time, the screen inside the headset lights up when you hit the power button, showing a logo and startup screen when you look into it.

You spend a few more minutes playing with the focus and other settings, before finally having something you can comfortably and reliably see through.  
It takes a little more tinkering to link the headset to your phone, but soon enough you have it.  
Visor and phone are talking to each other, fully connected, and you're ready to go!

...once you install the right app onto your devices.  
And, apparently, do a few updates.  
This is definitely more complicated than you'd expected.

* * *

After spending way too much time fucking around with this thing,  
Installing software, downloading updates, configuring settings,  
And basically just wasting another hour or so just trying to get the damn thing properly set up,  
Finally, **finally,** you have everything up and running like it should be.

You hope.  
Whatever - Attempt Number Three, let's go!

Sliding the visor down over your eyes and picking up the wands, you key up the headset and are excited to be able to actually see your room.  
Or at least, a decent, cobbled-together virtual rendering of it.  
With, admittedly, a few extras to look at, courtesy of the Free Section of the headset's marketplace.  
Now, with everything appearing to be working, it's time for the actual test.

Moving carefully, you're able to get up and walk around without bumping into too many things...too often, at least.  
You carefully navigate the hall, keeping one hand on the real wall as you maneuver around into the living room.

You feel your pulse pick up as you draw closer to the kitchen area.  
To your excited surprise, you can actually _hear_ something from just around the corner in the kitchen.  
It's Zorra, singing. You can actually hear her singing.  
Holy shit. Even if this is all you can get, it almost makes this whole thing worth it.

Drawing close to the doorway, you hesitate.  
You take a few deep breaths, calming yourself and building your courage.  
This is it - this is the moment you've been waiting for from the second you ordered this system.

You honestly can't say what scares you more, the idea that this isn't going to work, and you just wasted several hundred dollars on nothing,  
Or the chance that it just _might_.

Too late to back out now. Let's do this.  
Steeling your nerve, you turn the corner, stepping into the kitchen --

\-- and she's there.

Standing right there, humming the tune to some beautiful song,  
She's facing the stove, her back turned to you, her hips swaying and her tail wagging slowly in time with her song.

For a moment, all you can do is stare, her every move strangely hypnotic.

Your hand starts to move on its own, unnoticed until you see the disembodied glove in your visor's view.  
Some instinct far beyond your control guides you, moves your feet forward, lifts your hand --

You press the trigger on the control stick, and actually _hear_ Zorra make an odd sound, like a cross between a squeak and a bark.

Her hand immediately swings back to slap over her butt, covering her cheek as she spins around to stare behind her.  
Her eyes are wide, shocked and confused, as she stares directly into your own.

You're frozen in place, unable to move, barely able to even breathe.

She blinks, her eyes still wide and her ears laid back.  
You _see_ her mouth move, and your heart races as you realize you can actually _hear_ her voice.

At the same instant, a message-box appears in your visor, in time with a familiar message-alert sound from your phone.  
The message-box opens itself, showing a text from Zorra, sent right as she's talking.

> [Papi, ¿que..?]

She pauses again, her eyes flicking a little to the side, and you get the oddest feeling she somehow sees the message-box on your screen.  
She looks back at you, curiosity taking over her confusion, with a good amount of nervousness thrown in.

You _see_ her lean in towards you, her eyes flicking up and around as if she's seeing the weird icons and indicators showing up on your screen around her.

> [¿Qué es esto, papi?]

Her curious look settles, on all things, on your floating disembodied hand.  
She tilts her head to one side, her ears raising back up and rotating as she stares at it for a moment.  
She looks from the hand, to you, then back to the hand, before asking softly,

> [Papi...¿acabas de pellizcarme el trasero?]

Still staring at the floating glove, Zorra hesitantly reaches out with her own hand, carefully and nervously bringing it close to touch your glove - and quickly drawing her hand back with a surprised gasp.  
She's not the only one surprised, either.  
You swear, when she tapped your 'hand', you **felt** the control stick shift just a little.

She's trembling, her face full of so many emotions you can't begin to figure it out.  
Her eyes, glistening with moisture, turn up and lock on yours again.  
Her voice is shaking, her chest heaving with every breath she takes as she quietly whispers to you, her voice equally full of fear and hope.

> [Papi...¡puedes tocarme!]

**Author's Note:**

> This story originally began as a series of greentexts written for the SCP General Thread on 4chan's /trash/ board. The original idea was inspired by a picture and an idea- "What if someone decided to make a bootleg knockoff of MalO?"  
> Given the story's origin, absolutely no claims regarding any sort of quality or taste are made, nor should they be expected. The author is clearly disturbed.
> 
> Title image created by [Victor Dantes,](https://www.furaffinity.net/user/victordantes/) who also made [an alternate version.](https://static1.e621.net/data/6e/97/6e97226ef7362a0cd230ad0127f7f355.png) Chapter Seven's image created by [Keadonger.](https://www.furaffinity.net/user/keadonger/) Go show both these wonderfully talented folks some love.


End file.
